


Thinking

by qb_cereal



Category: Ookiku Furikabutte
Genre: M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-30
Updated: 2011-12-30
Packaged: 2017-10-28 11:55:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/307631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qb_cereal/pseuds/qb_cereal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kanou can't stop thinking about Oda's hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thinking

**Author's Note:**

  * For [1010nabulation](https://archiveofourown.org/users/1010nabulation/gifts).



It isn’t the first time Oda touches Kanou, but it’s the first time Kanou is waiting for it. It’s afternoon practice, not yet a week since camp ended, and Oda is still new and interesting and finding his place in the team as it forms. That’s the only reason Kanou is still thinking about him all the time: because he’s -  
 _gorgeous_  
\- new and not from Gunma. It’s not because he looks graceful when he lopes in to field a bunt, or because his hands are always heavy and reliable, or because his slow, easy smile makes Kanou’s -  
 _cock twitch_  
\- heart speed up, or because he’s so fucking tall that it sends shivers down Kanou’s spine just thinking about it. Obviously.

It’s been a couple of days since Oda last touched him, and that was only a quick pat on the shoulder during the Nishiura game. So, when they’re standing together outside the dugout and Kanou is called up to bat against the pitching machine, he takes two steps in the wrong direction first and waits, but he doesn’t wait long. Less than a second later, Oda’s hand lands on the back of his neck, just as rough and warm as Kanou remembers, and huge. It spans above his hairline, below the collar of his shirt, and he can feel Oda’s thumb slip under the collar on one side and momentarily brush over Kanou’s collarbone. Oda turns Kanou gently to face the pitching machine, which is lucky because Kanou is concentrating on –  
 _Oda’s touching me, oh god_  
\- trying to breathe normally. He feels _amazing_.

Kanou doesn’t move right away and he feels Oda guide him forward a few steps -  
 _fingers brushing through my hair, the pad of that thumb covering my clavicle_  
\- and then Oda says his name in that low voice that sends electricity sparking straight down his spine. Kanou says something that sounds like a strangled whimper and walks forward a few more paces. When Oda’s hand falls back to his side, Kanou remembers he’s supposed to be batting. The coach is scowling at him and Kanou already knows he won’t be able to hit a single ball today. But that’s okay. He’ll bat better tomorrow, if he can’t think of another subtle way to convince Oda to put his hands on him instead.

===

He bats just as badly as he expected, distracted and aroused from the skin-to-skin contact with lanky, laid-back Oda. It doesn’t seem to matter how much time Kanou spends –  
 _fantasising_  
\- thinking about him, because there’s always more to think about and it’s always good. Oda _understands_ things, like he understood about Mihashi’s pitching and sat with Kanou in companionable silence after the game. Oda never worries about anything, either. He just pats someone on the head or slams a baseball out of the field or makes up his mind to train harder and suddenly everything is okay again, like all his problems are solved. Everything would be simple if Kanou was with Oda all the time.

Oda even makes masturbating easier. Since he became involved in Kanou’s occasional evening fantasies Kanou hasn’t had to stop, frustrated and angry over a lost game or Hatake or any trivial distraction like that. It’s relaxing and -  
 _hot_  
\- reassuring and easy to think about Oda and his deft hands and his intense eyes and his long, graceful legs and just… everything about him.

===

When Kanou gets home after practice, he wolfs down dinner and tells his mother he has heaps of homework and she shouldn’t bother him. She tells him she hopes he gets it all done, but she sounds disbelieving. Kanou ignores her and goes to his bedroom, locking the door behind him. He strips off his winter uniform and decides he hates it a little less today, because Oda still managed to find a patch of Kanou’s bare skin to put his hand on.

Kanou flops backwards onto his bed as soon as he’s naked, one hand stroking his dick straight away. No sense in waiting around for the memory to fade, and he’s already hard anyway. He tries to remember exactly how Oda’s hands feel: broad and callused and heavy against his skin, making him feel even smaller than he is. Huge and warm and strong, and Kanou wishes his own hands weren’t so small and lean because they don’t fit with his fantasy at all. He tries wrapping both hands around his cock, one above the other, and that feels good enough that he can almost pretend it’s Oda jerking him off and he wonders why he never tried it before.

He tries to imagine what it would be like if Oda really was the one touching him now. It would probably be slow and deliberate and it would definitely be intense because Oda is just innately talented at everything. Maybe it would be _really_ slow. Maybe Oda is a tease. Kanou traces one finger up his length and around the head of his dick, and it _is_ intense so he does it again, lightly, gently. He wants more, though, and maybe Oda would give it to him. Maybe he’d approach Kanou’s cock in the same dedicated, surprisingly fast way he plays baseball. The thought makes Kanou shiver, and he wraps both hands around his erection again, tight and focused and _good_.

He closes his eyes and pictures Oda in his bedroom, shirtless and huge and blocking out the sun and staring at Kanou… oh, god, staring like the time Kanou caught Oda watching him in the bath during training camp, soapsuds trailing down his shoulders, eyes fixed intently on Kanou, dark and endless and perfect. He didn’t even break eye contact when Kanou raised his eyebrows at him, just smiled that slow smile until Kanou was the one –  
 _getting hard in the bath tub_  
\- blushing and looking away.

Kanou’s hips buck at the memory and he strokes himself faster and harder, but that breaks the fantasy. Oda never does anything faster than is completely necessary, so Kanou slows his hands to a steady rhythm more reminiscent of the guy he is trying to picture. He thinks about Oda’s smile and the way Oda’s shoulders move when he -  
 _jerks me off_  
\- bats and the feel of Oda’s hands against his skin, against his cock, warm and slow and rough in all the right places. He imagines Oda saying his name, voice deep and reassuring and full of promise, _Kanou, Kanou, Kanou…_

Kanou moans, trying desperately to maintain some kind of rhythm with both hands as the tidal wave of sensation builds. Even his fantasy has the evocative lilt of Kansai-ben threaded through his vowels and he just wants to listen to Oda say -  
 _Kanou!_  
\- his name all night long. He can’t help but imagine Oda pressed up against him, all long legs and broad chest and massive hands running down Kanou’s sides. His imaginary Oda presses his face against Kanou’s cheek, lips against his ear, and Kanou loses all co-ordination. He drops back to stroking with his right hand, too familiar and too fast to be anything like Oda, but he’s so close now and the image is so clear, and…

 _Shuugo!_

Orgasm hits Kanou suddenly, harder than ever in his life, and he’s gasping and grinning and oh _yeah_ … everything in the world is -  
 _Oda is_  
\- totally wonderful. The familiar warm looseness sinks into his limbs and he keeps his eyes closed, holding onto the fantasy of Oda in his bedroom, perfect and naked -  
 _and protective_  
\- and huge.

Tomorrow, he’ll think of a way to get Oda to hold his hand. Batting practice can go jump in a lake.

===

Kanou doesn’t come up with any remotely plausible excuses to make Oda hold his hand. His batting only improves slightly, because he’s too busy thinking about being without that fantastic physical contact all day. And tomorrow it will be the weekend and he won’t even see Oda for _days_. But he can’t actually do anything weird to his hands to get Oda’s attention because focusing on pitching is his only excuse for his -  
 _distracting fantasies_  
\- crappy batting recently.

And… if he’s honest, his pitching isn’t entirely up to scratch today either. After last night, he’s thinking about Oda _too_ much - if such a thing is possible - and now it’s a problem. It’s even more of a problem because Oda seems to be deliberately avoiding him today, moving away every time Kanou tries to approach him and barely making eye contact even when they’re paired for catch. It should be irritating, but Kanou just feels lonely and kind of hollow inside. He tries to get close enough to speak to Oda again and then again, to no effect. This whole weekend is going to suck.

Practice ends without Oda so much as looking at him again and Kanou’s stomach is starting to hurt, which doesn’t even make sense. It’s not like Oda is really _important_ to him; it’s just that Kanou likes touching him a lot. Which is totally normal, anyway. Kanou gets changed slowly and distractedly, like he’s been doing everything since last night. Oda -  
 _is gorgeous_  
\- continues ignoring him, and Kanou leaves the clubhouse on his own, scuffing his shoes in the dirt because the sooner he gets home, the sooner the huge looming Oda-less weekend will start.

Before Kanou is halfway to the gate, he feels completely miserable, not even looking forward to -  
 _masturbating_  
\- going to bed and not having to wake up early.

Before Kanou reaches the gate, there are hands on his shoulders, turning him around, hands he would recognise blindfolded and numb, because suddenly he feels happier and safer and incredibly horny. Oda is right there in front of him, leaning down so they’re almost -  
 _kissing_  
\- face-to-face.

“Kanou.”

Kanou says -  
 _please_  
\- something in reply, but it comes out sounding like “nnnggh?” and that isn’t what he meant at all.

“You’ve been doing an awful lot of thinking lately,” Oda says in that lazy Western drawl and Kanou’s stomach flips like it always does.

“No, I haven’t!” Kanou frowns, clears his throat, and tries to lower his voice an octave.

“Oh,” Oda says, low and rough and purring, and Kanou is sure he’s dragging out every word on purpose, “I suppose it wouldn’t matter if I’d been doing some thinking myself, then.”

Kanou wants to reply, he really does, especially with something smart and witty that would put him back in control of the situation but Oda’s face is way too close and Oda’s thumb is brushing, feather-light, along the side of his throat. There’s no speaking coherently now and Kanou wonders if he’s doing it on purpose.

On his third try, Kanou stutters out the word “what?” and Oda… Oda fucking smiles at him. They’re alone, in the dark, with no-one else around and Oda’s hands are massive on his shoulders and there’s that bare-skin-contact on his neck and it takes almost a full minute for that smile to form across Oda’s face. By the time he is really smiling, Kanou is breathless just watching him and desperately trying to form coherent words -  
 _oh please just fuck me_  
\- in his head but it’s incredibly difficult.

“I was thinking I ought to take you out to dinner first. I’d like to do this properly. Are you free tonight?” Oda says and his voice is still deep and soft, but it’s more earnest than before. His easy smile is still in place, but his eyes are as intense as Kanou has ever seen them. For a moment, Kanou just gapes at him -  
 _never mind_ properly, _we’re alone here_  
\- too full of excitement and sensation and hope to even process what Oda is saying. When that moment lasts a little too long, Oda takes his hands off Kanou’s shoulders, looking vaguely worried. The loss of contact feels something like an unexpected cold shower and jolts Kanou’s brain cells back into action.

“Um. Um, yes. Yes, let me call my parents, hang on.”

Kanou grabs Oda’s hand and intertwines their fingers. He digs his phone out of his bag one-handed. Maybe this weekend will be okay, after all. Oda is -  
 _completely amazing_  
\- completely amazing.


End file.
